


You're Hot (and I'm Cold)

by Sparcina



Series: Iron Webs to Covet [20]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alien Planet, Angst and Feels, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Oral Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sharing Body Heat, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, secret tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: The mission was supposed to be straightforward.Instead, Peter was about to pass out from hypothermia. Tony wasn’t faring much better. He barely felt his own face and feet anymore, and that was good. It kept him focused on his task.Finding a shelter.Getting Peter warm.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Iron Webs to Covet [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/779883
Comments: 13
Kudos: 203
Collections: Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	You're Hot (and I'm Cold)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Val_Creative!

Tony hated the cold. The winter in New York grated on his nerves at the best of times, but it was… bearable. The kind of cold that slashed through flesh and bones, though? The icy chill that lingered long after the wind had dropped to a breeze? _That_ he hated with a passion. And he had plenty of very good reasons. Like Siberia.

Or deep space.

He’d loved the idea of space exploration right until the moment he hadn’t: three years ago, when that purple dick of a world conqueror had forced him to travel back to Earth on a ship built by aliens who had no concept whatsoever of heating systems despite having figured out artificial gravity and quantum-wave propulsion. There hadn’t even been blankets on board, for crying out loud.

But his physical discomfort didn’t matter now, and neither did the anxiety brought on by a string of not-so-cheerful memories. He had someone else to protect, someone he cared about a whole lot more than himself.

“I’m ok-kay.”

“You will be.” Tony tugged Peter into his side, blinking hard to try and see past the almost solid wall of the snow storm. The kid had always been a shitty liar, and besides, Tony could hear the nerve-wracking sound of teeth clattering over the wind, and this was no Cuban tropical breeze. “Keep walking. One foot in front of-”

“I d-don’t need y-your help t-to-”

“Less talking, more walking.”

Peter must really be on the verge of hypothermia, because he didn’t argue further. Tony picked up the pace, helping the kid along. He shielded him as much as he could from the storm, orienting his own body to take the brunt of it, but the biting wind seemed to come from every possible angle, and the snowflakes felt like tiny bullets as they hit him, hard and irritating against slivers of exposed skin.

“We’ll g-get through this,” he promised, rubbing Peter’s side with a numb hand.

The wind shifted abruptly, forcing him to snap his mouth shut before he got a mouthful of snow.

Peter stumbled and half collapsed. Tony pulled him back to his feet with a strength he didn’t know he had. He barely felt his own face and feet anymore, and that was good. It kept him focused on his task.

Finding a shelter.

Getting Peter warm.

They kept on stumbling through the alien tundra, boots sinking into blue-tinged snow.

*

The abandoned base was a pitch-dark hole in severe need of the services of a clean-up crew, but there was alien tech lying around that _might_ be repurposed into defensive weaponry, doors that could be closed and locked (what a luxury), and a bunch of furs that could be piled into a nest of blankets. It smelled foul, but as far as Tony was concerned, it was the most hospitable place in this quadrant of the Magellanic Clouds right now.

It was warm. Well, warm-ish. Compared to the crazy world outside, it was a fucking sauna.

“I’d give it four stars and a half,” he called out upon discovering the bathroom, or at least, the alien equivalent of a shower. “Get in here, kid!”

The kid leaned into the doorway with a shaky exhale. He’d always been pale, but his skin had turned too close to white for comfort. His lips were fucking blue, for Chris’s sake, and his eyes were a little too wide, unfocused and wild. For all that the kid was younger and stronger, so much _better_ in every way, he had a higher metabolism to support, and the freezing temperature had shot it to hell.

If heat-transfusion had been a thing, Tony would have done it in an instant. He made a mental note to work on that as soon as they were back on good ol’ Earth.

“Come on,” Tony said with quiet authority, and all the calm he didn’t feel. He wiggled his fingers at him, Parkinson-Matrix style.

Peter made no comment about the shaking and stumbled forwards, reaching out to grip Tony’s hand. He needed two tries.

His skin was ice-cold.

Burying the panic deep within, Tony got to work and helped the kid undress as fast as his numb fingers would allow. He shed his own clothes as a matter of course. They couldn’t afford to get their only garments wet, and besides, a hot shower worked better without a stitch on. As Peter’s underwear joined the pile of alien garments on the dusty floor, Tony did his best not to look. Which was easier than it had ever been before, probably because this wasn’t a wet dream, Peter’s teeth were clattering, and for all his sins and setbacks, Tony had _some_ of his priorities in the right order. 

He guided Peter under the shower head, sparing half a thought for the baffling rhombic triacontahedron design of the stall.

“T-Too hot,” Peter mumbled, recoiling away from the spray.

“Too hot is good.” Tony nudged him back under the hot jet, getting half his face and part of his right shoulder acquainted with the hell-level of warmth as a side-effect (and making sure to keep a polite three inches between them). “It’s only too hot because you’re freezing.” 

He probably sounded judgmental, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Peter to be safe, and this ass-cold planet teeming with warmongering aliens was the very opposite of safe. This, right here, was exactly why he’d argued with that one-eyed bastard against involving Spiderman in a mission that could really use Spiderman’s help. Tony’s concern was _Peter_ , not humankind, thank you very much.

(Although he’d managed to save _both_ that one time, but there were only so many extraordinary ways of bending physics to ensure Peter’s safety.)

Predictably, the kid had found out about Tony vetoing his participation just in time to give him hell for it and tag along. Because that was what Peter did, thinking of everybody else before himself. It was one of the many, many things Tony loved about him. It was also one of the reasons he knew his ceiling so intimately.

“Hey.” Without thinking, Tony reached to steady the kid. Peter had lost his balance, which never happened. Tony told himself very firmly to keep his tone even. He had lots of practice postponing screaming. Or destroying half the workshop in a fit of despair/rage/agony over Peter’s martyr tendencies. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, kid. You could slip.”

“C-Cold.”

“Then it’s not too hot anymore, is it?”

Tony missed the cheerful tone he’d been aiming for by several parsecs, but the kid chuckled as he closed his eyes, sagging back against Tony in obvious relief.

Tony’s hand spasmed on the kid’s arm.

_Fuck it._

He’d never been good at propriety and manners, and seeing the kid like that and knowing he could do something about it ripped whatever veneer of acceptability he had left.

He probably needed a new brain-to-mouth filter anyway.

“Can I rub your arms a bit? That might help. Or you could-”

“Please.”

Tony both hated and loved it when Peter said that word. Right now, he was too focused on the task at hand (literally) to feel torn over the pleading, wan note in Peter’s voice.

“Tell me if it hurts? I mean, the temperature contrast might cause the friction to hurt at first, but-”

“You could n-never hurt me.”

Tony snapped his mouth shut and rubbed Peter’s arms with renewed vigor, never mind the lack of strength in his own limbs. The hot water _did_ hurt, but it would feel better in a moment. _Peter_ would feel better. Tony would make him feel better. _Warmer_ , he corrected himself, rubbing harder, perhaps too hard, but Peter was making those little punched-out gasps and leaning fully into him, welcoming the warmth.

“T-Tony.”

“No. Not happening.” He knew perfectly well why Peter was trying to move away from the spray, and just like he’d said, it wasn’t going to happen. The kid needed the hot water more than Tony did. The lack of food probably had contributed to Peter’s current state, but Tony had already ~~forced-fed~~ given him his last nutrition pack.

For a while, they stood there, Tony actually starting to feel his own hands again as they moved up and down Peter’s arms with a metronome’s regularity. He tried not to acknowledge the texture at his fingertips, the softness of that skin he’d spent a thousand nights picturing in his lonely bed, but this was the problem with not being freezing anymore. _Feelings._

He’d never thought he’d miss the cold.

He stepped back, putting back those three inches of Victorian propriety between them. “Better?”

Peter made a vague noise of agreement and tilted his head back, which put his face much closer to Tony’s own. Not that Tony considered kissing him. He wasn’t half-hard either because of the heady mix of Peter’s proximity and the lingering adrenaline from their flight. The fact that color was returning to Peter’s cheeks and the tremors becoming few and far behind wasn’t a reason for him to get caught up in his own dirty, depraved fantasies. He _knew_ that. He’d known that for years.

His body was just too stubborn to get the memo, it seemed.

He took a careful step back. As soon as Peter could stand without face-planting and stopped stuttering, Tony exited the shower under the pretext the need to contact the Intergalactic Public Transit, aka the Asshole Who Was Not in Charge, one Trigger-Happy Raccoon, and Grooving Groot. It was a valid excuse. They needed that lift back to Earth ASAP.

“But I found soap!” the kid protested.

The kid who really didn’t look like a kid anymore. Tony made a beeline for the door, the smelly fur of some unknown beast secured awkwardly around his waist. His role was to protect Peter, and that meant from _all_ threats.

“I’ll wash later, okay? Take your time.”

“What if the hot water runs out?”

Tony hesitated at the doorstep. He should leave. Right now. He could sense Peter’s gaze on him. It was a physical pull, the north hailing the south with the siren’s song of magnetism, and if he wasn’t careful, he would go back in that shower, imagine something that wasn’t there in those big, brown eyes, and wonder if-

“I’m good, kid.”

“’not a kid.”

Tony loved to have the last word, but he loved Peter more.

So he got started on that excuse right away.

*

Figuring out alien tech from scratch was well within Tony’s skillset, which meant it took him only a couple hours to connect Friday to the local electronic system and contact the Revengers’ ship. The Rumbling Racoon’s ETA (seven hours) was too long by seven hours for his taste, but the lack of any _other_ friendly lifts back to Earth forced him to hold his tongue and be polite. The word _thanks_ sure left a sour taste on his tongue, though.

This fucking mission.

Fucking Fury.

(Not in _that_ sense, obviously.)

Sometimes, he really missed the phones from his childhood. The type that could be slammed down on the receiver _._

He glanced over his shoulder. “You okay in there, Spideroos?”

Peter didn’t stir from under the pile of furs. “’m fine.”

Frowning at the tone that definitely belied the words, Tony set his makeshift radio aside and hurried to the bed, his old joints be damned. “You still cold?”

The answer was unintelligible, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Pete?” He sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled a corner of one fur aside to get a look at Peter’s face. “Hey…” The somber look in those eyes tugged at his heartstrings. “We’ll get picked up soon, you hear me? You’re going to be fine.”

“I know.” A smile flashed on Peter’s lips, so brief it might have been Tony’s imagination. Faint lines of tensions appeared at the corner of his eyes, and his lips turned down a fraction. “You always find a way.”

Tony’s hand went white-knuckled on the musty-smelling fur. Why did he always put that look on Peter’s face? God, he hated himself. Lots of practice there, obviously. “So do you, kid.” He released the fur and fumbled for something to say to cheer Peter up. “That bomb you disarmed in their control room, that was…”

Peter arched a brow, lips twitching in another shooting star of a smile. “Impressive?”

 _Fucking terrifying_ would be closer to the truth, but now wasn’t the time to give Peter hell for playing hero. He’d done it already. And he’d get to do it again in Fury’s office. Because he was a hypocritical bastard who wanted Peter to remain safe, always.

He’d dreamed, once, of Peter ~~locked up~~ living in his Tower. And when he’d woken up, rock hard at the false memory of Peter lounging in _their_ bed with _his_ shirt and nothing else but a few inches of lace wrapped around his dick and balls, safe and unwilling to leave, Tony had known he was truly fucked.

(Again, not quite in that sense. But close enough.)

He patted the fur near Peter’s head. “Get some rest, kid.”

*

Of course, Tony had to find out by himself that Peter was still cold and only pretending to sleep, five freaking hours after the fact. In his defense, he’d been busy setting up the not-very-intuitive defense weaponry attached to this bunker and blasting a dozen aliens to stalactite goo. Unless it was stalagmite? Thank fuck Friday was faster than him at deciphering the snowmen’s cuneiform-ish instructions under all that dust.

“Jesus, kid, you’re a freaking popsicle!”

“’not my f-fault. Metabolism s-sucks.”

“Well, you should have told me!” Tony tried to calm down, but Peter’s teeth were clattering _again_ , and he was shivering so hard. Fear tore through his heart. “Let’s get you back in the shower. I took a very quick one earlier, so there should be some hot water left.” He squeezed a shoulder through the fur. “Pete, come on.”

Peter didn’t move.

“Kid?” His stomach dropped. “Pete, are you-”

“T-There are other w-ways to share warmth, you k-know.”

For a moment there, Tony could have sworn he’d misheard. Of course, he’d thought about it. Skin-to-skin contact was a basic survival technique, which he’d practiced with Pepper and Rhodey a couple of times under less than ideal circumstances.

These were certainly less than ideal circumstances.

But.

“T-Tony.”

The pleading look in Peter’s eyes…

Tony had had years to build a resistance to that, too.

“Shower, kid.”

*

Of course, there was no more water, hot or cold.

“S-Sorry…”

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Tony stripped down to his underwear as quickly as he could. This was not taking advantage, he told himself. This was about warmth. Peter needed warmth. And Tony could provide it. Simple maths, really.

Layered with too many variables.

He slipped under the furs and sought out Peter’s hands. They were so fucking cold, and Tony’s hands weren’t exactly warm in the first place. His heart tightened at the kid’s miserable expression. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked small and vulnerable.

“How about we start with a hug?”

“I t-thought we weren’t t-there yet.”

Tony huffed. If the kid could still joke, surely things weren’t so dire? “That was years ago. So, what do you say, kid?”

“S-Stop calling me that,” Peter protested, and wrapped his trembling arms around Tony’s waist in the same breath.

Hugging Peter wasn’t exactly new, but it hadn’t happened near often enough for Tony’s liking. It had been an actual effort to keep his hands to himself, and not even in the sexual way. He wasn’t a tactile person by nature, but Peter… He wanted to touch Peter all the time. Card a hand through his hair to mess it even more, squeeze his shoulder when he passed by his workstation in the lab, grab his nimble feet and massage the kinks away on Millennials vs. Old Men’s movie night…

It had gotten worse after Peter’s temporary death, of course. The need to touch. To reassure himself that Peter was real, alive, fine. And if it made his eyes sting to hold Peter so close, to feel almost every inch of that lithe body pressed against his, well, that was his problem, not the kid’s.

“Those furs smell funny,” he remarked out loud, mostly to distract himself from the way Peter kept wriggling and nuzzling at his neck, cold lips brushing past his quickening pulse. Was the kid even aware of what he was doing? _Fuck._ “The furs,” he said calmly, not hysterical one bit. “Do they smell funny to you, too?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Cold sucks. I hate winter. I hate the North. I hate Sokovia and Russia and every other fucking country that doesn't get a decent summer. Every damn word that starts with snow, too. Like snow storms. And snow balls. Rhodey would always get one down my hoodie at MIT. God, I hated that...”

“S-Snowmen, too?”

Tony made the mistake of looking down.

Peter’s face was right there, eyes bright and wide and _pleading._ The kid’s tousled brown curls brushed against his nose as he tilted his chin up just a little more. God, Tony wanted to-

_No._

“Sure.” Tony’s throat clicked. “Snowmen are evil.”

He kept the running commentary as he reached a tentative hand around Peter shoulders to rub some warmth into his back. He could multitask. He totally could. Besides, spewing nonsense meant less time to dwell on what exactly he was doing, and with whom. But he couldn’t help reveling in the softness of Peter’s skin. Did the calluses on his palms feel rough, or was the contrast a pleasant sensation? God, Tony didn’t want to dwell on that, but the gutter had turned into some very intricate labyrinth just now. “Is it okay?” he asked, just a touch breathless. “You okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

At least, the kid wasn’t stuttering anymore.

And then, he tilted his head up and kissed Tony. 

_Oh._

At first, Tony was too shocked to react. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep after all.

But no dream had ever felt this good. In his fantasies, Peter could be tentative and sweet or forward and demanding, but this Peter toed the no man’s land between both, and his lips were too cold still for this kiss to be anything but real.

Tony pulled back with a gasp.

“Sorry.” Peter recoiled as if he’d been struck, one still wet curl falling over his eyes. “I thought… Never mind. God, I’m such an idiot-”

“No.” Against his better judgment, Tony cupped Peter’s cheek. It was still so cold. “You’re the most brilliant, incredible person I know. But you’re not thinking straight right now-”

“I have never been straight. And to be fair, I’ve only been thinking about kissing you for _years_.”

There it was, in Peter’s eyes: the gleam of desperate want and affection that echoed his own feelings so well.

“Kid-”

Peter’s eyes blazed with fury. “Stop calling me that!”

Panic washed over Tony. “What do you want me to say? I can’t- This isn’t-”

“Just tell me you don’t want me and I’ll never bring this up again.”

“Pete…” Tony’s mind spun. He couldn’t look away. “You could have so much better. Someone who isn’t-”

“ _You_ ’re the one I want.”

The scorching heat in Peter’s gaze burned down every last one of Tony’s arguments.

“Jesus, kid, you have no idea, do you?” A flicker of insecurity flashed across Peter’s face, and suddenly, Tony couldn’t find any reason not to say the words he’d held close for years. “You’re _perfect_ , Pete. I think about you all the time, and half that time, I don’t even bother picturing you in clothes.”

“You do?”

The vulnerability in Peter’s tone was gone.

The tight vice around Tony’s chest was gone, too.

“I do.”

Their second kiss was full of tongue and teeth and Tony forgot for a whole minute why he’d ever thought he had to work on his self-control. Oxygen was still a thing, though, so he had to pull back eventually. And think. A feat made quite challenging by the sight of Peter’s pink cheeks and slick lips.

“Pete, are you… Are you _sure_ you’re okay with this?”

The kid had the gall to roll his eye at him. “Didn’t _I_ kiss _you_?”

“Yes, sure, but are your reasons-”

“Do I feel thankful that you saved my life _again_? Sure. But that’s not why I kissed you, and why I want to do it again.”

_Jesus._

“You…”

“Yes, _I._ ”

Tony fumbled for words. The fact that all those furs had pooled at Peter’s waist didn’t help. “You never said anything.”

“Why would I risk what we have? You running away at the sight of me naked didn’t exactly bolster my confidence.”

“Hey, that was _one_ time!”

“Two.”

“Yeah, sure, but you were like, twelve back then?”

“Fifteen,” Peter corrected. He lifted a hand to mirror Tony’s gesture and cup the older man’s cheek, brushing his thumb alongside his jaw. “And that was five years ago. Am I a _kid_ right now, Tony?

“No.” Tony’s lips parted on a shaky exhale at the first press of Peter’s thumb against his bottom lip. A cool digit, one that he licked reflexively. A grunt built up in his chest at the bewitching sight of Peter biting down his own lip, dilated pupils aglow with the fire of desire. “You’re… definitely not a kid anymore.”

“Then stop running. You get to tell me no, but not to tell me who I want. Or who I love.”

“Love?”

Peter’s nostrils flared. “Are you going to question _that_ , too?”

Tony really didn’t want to. But he had to. Because lust was one thing, but love… “Ki- Pete,” he corrected himself at the last moment, “You don’t have to- We’re getting out of this, I promise. You have all the time in the world to figure out-”

“Should I ask if you’ve figured out your intentions about me, then?” Peter cut in hotly. “I wouldn’t want to kiss you if you’re _unsure_ , after all.”

Without further ado, Peter threw all the furs to the side and turned around, just enough to expose his back to Tony. So much skin to covet, to kiss and worship… Tony followed the enticing curve of Peter’s spine with his eyes, down, down, down, until…

_Holy shit._

He was still concerned about Peter’s shivering. Very much so. But his fucking name, _Tony Stark_ , was carved right there on Peter’s alabaster skin, a swirl of black letters just above the swell of his ass. And as if that wasn’t enough to give Tony a Very Inappropriate boner, there were other words, too. Two, actually. Right in front of his name on Peter’s skin.

 _Property of_.

Peter twisted his head around. “Do you think I’d go out of my way to create an ink that’s permanent on me if I wasn’t sure?

*

There was a lot of uninterrupted kissing for a while.

Peter tasted like expired protein rations and that sour alcohol they’d last drunk and Tony never wanted to stop kissing him. At some point, they lay down, Tony’s body covering Peter’s own.

“Less cold now?”

“Not sure,” Peter giggled. “Keep kissing me?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

That earned him an interesting reaction, so he kept sneaking a few pet names in between kisses, and as far as he could tell, Peter liked every single one of them. _Sweetheart_ made him writhe and moan. _Honey_ prompted him to tilt his head back for Tony to mark his throat. _Baby_ earned him finger-shaped bruises on the ass as Peter’s hips snapped up, seeking out friction against Tony’s stomach, hands steady on Tony’s hips.

The first time Peter came was with Tony’s mouth on one nipple and two fingers twisting the other. Tony promised himself to spend ages worshiping those cute pink buds as soon as his main goal wasn’t to warm up the most wonderful creature of the universe who was currently busy jerking him off. A groan of rapture tumbled from his lips as Peter swiped his thumb over the slit of his cock, desire and concern warring inside him.

“I’m good,” Peter assured him, and directed Tony’s hands down, over the tattoo spelling out his name. “’s so good. I want you.”

He was blushing, and Tony couldn’t look away as he caressed the inked skin at the base of Peter’s spine. _Property of Tony Stark_. Jesus, if he’d been a decade younger, he would have come already.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He trailed kisses up Peter’s throat, fucking into the now warm fist wrapped tightly around his dick. “Fuck, I love you so fucking much.”

Peter’s asscheeks felt firm in his hands, and he squeezed them once, twice, drunk on the little gasps and moans the caresses earned him. The sensation of Peter’s hand moving away from his dick, of one soft finger bypassing his balls and caressing his taint, not quite touching his hole but so close, brought a whine to his lips.

“You like that,” Peter rasped in his ear, not a question, but a pleased observation.

“Yes,” Tony managed to reply, hips bucking wildly as Peter’s finger moved just an inch further, and _tapped_ his rim. “Fuck, kid–”

“Still not a kid.”

“Yeah, not a- Just- Fuck, yes, that’s…”

The fingers stopped moving. Mischief lit up Peter’s eyes.

“Are you _sure_ , Tony?”

“You little shit,” Tony gasped, but there was only affection lacing his tone. If anything, he felt proud that this wonderful, impossible young man would turn the tables on him. “You can… Give me anything. I want you. _Ah,_ everything.”

“That’s very coherent.”

“I’ll show you coherent when I put my mouth on your- Christ, _Pete,_ yes, just like that…”

Peter had dipped in the tip of his index finger past the rim and started to stretch him with gentle, single-minded focus. Somehow, the kid had gotten that finger slick with saliva, and Tony wanted more, ached for the burn that came with too much too fast. He wanted Peter’s dick inside him _now._

But everything in due time.

“I’d really like to suck your cock right now.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice, and before long they were pleasuring each other, _warming_ each other up with mouths and fingers, Tony bobbing his head up and down Peter’s length, and Peter…

_Fuck._

Peter’s tongue was slick and hot against his rim, a steady pressure that Tony couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. He shivered all over, and cold had nothing to do with it. Peter sounded positively hungry as he pushed his tongue inside Tony’s hole, thumbs rubbing the sensitive rim fluttering around it. When Tony pulled back long enough to get a lungful of air, Peter parted his asscheeks further with a muffled sound, rubbing his whole face against Tony’s hole.

“Jesus,” Tony grunted, and promptly went back to sucking Peter’s dick.

That hot tongue felt divine slicking up his walls, the thrusts powerful and fast, and a spark of arousal shot up Tony’s spine at the realization that Peter’s strength must extend to every muscle in his body. He sucked Peter’s cock like his life depended on it, caressing the tip with his throat, grunting and moaning as one finger slipped inside him alongside this clever tongue. The sensation of Peter drooling between his asscheeks drove him wild, and he didn’t dare touch his cock: he wasn’t about to come before the kid was done.

Peter arched an eyebrow, visibly picking up on the aborted gesture, and pulled back to ask: “You okay?”

Tony choked on his own spit as the kid licked his lips. “I’ve never been more _okay_.”

“Good,” Peter said, and let Tony guide his dick to where he wanted it.

*

Peter didn’t fuck him _this_ time.

The lack of lube was a sensible argument, and besides, having Peter rub the tip of his cock over Tony’s hole with one hand and feed him two fingers with the others (slick with Peter’s come, at Tony’s request) was more than enough to push Tony over the edge.

Also, there was the matter of those seven hours having elapsed, and while Tony liked to show off on a good day, he wasn’t ready to let _anyone else_ see Peter naked just yet.

“Possessive much?” Peter whispered in his ear after they’d board the ship, a smile in his voice.

Tony tightened his hold around his lover’s waist, thumb brushing at the tattoo through the thin cotton of his shirt. He felt warm all over, and it had nothing to do with being in a properly heated ship for once. He kissed the corner of Peter’s lips.

“Your tattoo,” he crooned, growing hard again in his slacks. “It…”

“… does _things_ to you?” Peter chuckled, reading his expression correctly. “I’m glad.”

Tony leaned his forehead against Peter’s, pretty sure that he was falling in love all over again. “I love you.”

“Could we please keep this trip back Earth PG-13?” Dick Lord complained from across the cockpit.

“What tattoo?” Rocket Launcher inquired.

Peter rested his head on Tony’s shoulder and smiled. Tony laced their fingers together, pretending they were alone on their little trip back to Earth.

This mission hadn’t gone _all_ wrong.

(He was still going to rip Fury a new one, though.)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of an exchange and has been re-dated for author reveals.
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome :)


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